You
think you own whatever land you land on
The earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know ev'ry rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name

You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You'll learn things you never knew you never knew

Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned ?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain ?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind ?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind ?

Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest
Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth
Come roll in all the riches all around you
And for once, never wonder what they're worth

The
rainstorm and the river are my brothers
The heron and the otter are my friends
And we are all connected to each other
In a circle, in a hoop that never ends
Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or let the eagle tell you there he's been
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain ?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind ?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind ?

How high does the sycamore grow ?
If you cut it down, then you'll never know

And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
For whether we are white or copper-skinned
We just sing with all the voices of the mountain
Need to paint with all the colors of the wind
You can own the earth and still
All you'll own is earth until
You can paint with all colors of the wind

Good Wishes, family history buffs,
Wherever you may be,
It's time to close that pc down
And raise a glass with me;
We've done our best the whole year through
Our ancestors to find:
So lets drink to that ever-growing tree,
(This round's on me!)
Let's drink to that ever-growing tree.

We know it's not an easy task
To trace Great-uncle Jim,
Who went to Burma, married thrice,
And lived a life of sin;
He ran off with the parson's daughter -
She was number three -
So let's drink to that ever-growing tree
(This round's on me!)
Let's drink to that ever-growing tree.

Alo-ysius Finkelbaum
Is not a common name,
You'd think he'd crop up somewhere
But he's hiding just the same;
Tried IGI, the Census, FRC and BMD -
Hell, let's drink to that ever-growing tree,
(Thish roundsh on me!)
Let's drink to that ever-growing tree.

Tom Gadsden was a mariner - in 1691
He hopped the twig in Nevis
After too long in the sun,
But how to find his resting-place
Will be the death of ME!
Let's drink to that ever-growing tree,
(Da de da dee)
Let's drink to that ever-growing tree.

Though brick walls may confound us
And our eyes are growing dim,
We'll never stop our searching
For that one elusive limb -
We're addicts and we're proud of it
As anyone can see,
So let's drink to that ever-growing tree -
(Hic - no more for me!)
Let's drink to that ever-growing tree.

And so the shortest day came, and the year died.
And everywhere down the centuries off the snow-white hills
came people singing,
dancing,
to drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreens;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
and when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, revelling!
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them,
echoing behind us: listen!
All the long echoes sing the same delight,
this shortest day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land.
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
and hope for peace.
And so do we, here, now,
this year, and every year:
Welcome Yule!

On the FIRST day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me,
A kookaburra in a gum tree.
On the SECOND day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me,
Two snakes on skis,
And a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the THIRD day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me,
Three wet galahs,
Two snakes on skis,
And a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the FOURTH day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me,
Four lyrebirds,
Three wet galahs,
Two snakes on skis,
And a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the FIFTH day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me,
Five kangaroos,
Four lyrebirds,
Three wet galahs,
Two snakes on skis,
And a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the SIXTH day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me,
Six sharks a-surfing,
Five kangaroos,
Four lyrebirds,
Three wet galahs,
Two snakes on skis,
And a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the SEVENTH day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me,
Seven emus laying,
Six sharks a-surfing,
Five kangaroos,
Four lyrebirds,
Three wet galahs,
Two snakes on skis,
And a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the EIGHTH day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me,
Eight dingos dancing,
Seven emus laying,
Six sharks a-surfing,
Five kangaroos,
Four lyrebirds,
Three wet galahs,
Two snakes on skis,
And a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the NINTH day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me,
Nine crocs a-snoozing?
Eight dingos dancing,
Seven emus laying,
Six sharks a-surfing,
Five kangaroos,
Four lyrebirds,
Three wet galahs,
Two snakes on skis,
And a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the TENTH day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me,
Ten wombats washing,
Nine crocs a-snoozing?
Eight dingos dancing,
Seven emus laying,
Six sharks a-surfing,
Five kangaroos,
Four lyrebirds,
Three wet galahs,
Two snakes on skis,
And a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the ELEVENTH day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me,
Eleven lizards leaping,
Ten wombats washing,
Nine crocs a-snoozing?
Eight dingos dancing,
Seven emus laying,
Six sharks a-surfing,
Five kangaroos,
Four lyrebirds,
Three wet galahs,
Two snakes on skis,
And a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the TWELFTH day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me,
Twelve possums playing,
Eleven lizards leaping,
Ten wombats washing,
Nine crocs a-snoozing?
Eight dingos dancing,
Seven emus laying,
Six sharks a-surfing,
Five kangaroos,
Four lyrebirds,
Three wet galahs,
Two snakes on skis,
And a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the FIRST day of Christmas
My true love sent to me,
An emu up a gum tree.
On the SECOND day of Christmas
My true sent to me,
Two pink galahs,
And an emu up a gum tree.

On the THIRD day of Christmas
My true love sent to me,
Three kookaburras laughing,
Two pink galahs,
And an emu up a gum tree.

On the FOURTH day of Christmas
My true love sent to me
Four koalas cuddling,
Three kookaburras laughing
Two pink galahs
And an emu up a gum tree.

On the FIFTH day of Christmas
My true love sent to me
Five kangaroos,
Four koalas cuddling,
Three kookaburras laughing,
Two pink galahs,
And an emu up a gum tree.

On the SIXTH day of Christmas
My true love sent to me
Six brolgas dancing,
Five Kangaroos,
Four koalas cuddling,
Three kookaburras laughing,
Two pink galahs,
And an emu up a gum tree.

On the SEVENTH day of Christmas
My true love sent to me
Seven possums playing,
Six brolgas dancing,
Five kangaroos,
Four koalas cuddling
Three kookaburras laughing,
Two pink galahs,
And an emu up a gum tree.

On the EIGHTH day of Christmas
My true love sent to me
Eight dingoes digging,
Seven possums playing,
Six brolgas dancing,
Five kangaroos,
Four koalas cuddling,
Three kookaburras laughing,
Two pink galahs,
And an emu up a gum tree.

On the NINTH day of Christmas
My true love sent to me
Nine wombats working,
Eight dingoes digging
Seven possums playing,
Six brolgas dancing,
Five kangaroos,
Four koalas cuddling,
Three kookaburras laughing,
Two pink galahs,
And an emu up a gum tree.

On the TENTH day of Christmas
My true love sent to me
Ten lizards leaping,
Nine wombats working,
Eight dingoes digging
Seven possums playing,
Six brolgas dancing,
Five kangaroos,
Four koalas cuddling,
Three kookaburras laughing,
Two pink galahs,
And an emu up a gum tree.

On the ELEVENTH day of Christmas
My true love sent to me
Eleven numbats nagging,
Ten lizards leaping,
Nine wombats working,
Eight dingoes digging,
Seven possums playing,
Six brolgas dancing,
Five kangaroos,
Four koalas cuddling,
Three kookaburras laughing,
Two pink galahs,
And a emu up a gum tree.

Before I had a breast of red,
By Jesus I was daily fed,
The Saviours heart was kind and true,
He loved me, and I loved him too.
I saw the Lord one Friday morn.
He then was feeble, tired and worn,
By howling brutes the Lord was led,
A crown of thorns upon his head
His Sacred head was pierced and torn.
By many a cruel sharp thorn.
My heart was troubled much to see.
The dear Lord in his agony,
I pecked a thorn that pierced his brow,
The blood fell on my breast, and now,
The Sacred stain will ever remain,
Never to leave our breast again.
---
Signed and dated.
Albert Ohlson Crowle. Crantock. Easter 1941.

It is Christmas Day in the Workhouse,
And the cold bare walls are bright
With garlands of green and holly,
And the place is a pleasant sight:
For with clean-washed hands and faces,
In a long and hungry line
The paupers sit at the tables
For this is the hour they dine.
And the guardians and their ladies,
Although the wind is east,
Have come in their furs and wrappers,
To watch their charges feast;
To smile and be condescending,
Put pudding on pauper plates,
To be hosts at the workhouse banquet
They've paid for -- with their rates.

Oh, the paupers are meek and lowly
With their "Thank'ee kindly, mum's"
So long as they fill their stomachs,
What matter it whence it comes?
But one of the old men mutters,
And pushes his plate aside:
"Great God!" he cries; "but it chokes me!
For this is the day she died."

The guardians gazed in horror,
The master's face went white;
"Did a pauper refuse the pudding?"
Could their ears believe aright?
Then the ladies clutched their husbands,
Thinking the man would die,
Struck by a bolt, or something,
By the outraged One on high.

But the pauper sat for a moment,
Then rose 'mid a silence grim,
For the others had ceased to chatter
And trembled in every limb.
He looked at the guardians' ladies,
Then, eyeing their lords, he said,
"I eat not the food of villains
Whose hands are foul and red:

"Keep your hands off me, curse you!
Hear me right out to the end.
You come here to see how paupers
The season of Christmas spend.
You come here to watch us feeding,
As they watch the captured beast.
Hear why a penniless pauper
Spits on your paltry feast.

"Do you think I will take your bounty,
And let you smile and think
You're doing a noble action
With the parish's meat and drink?
Where's my wife, you traitors --
The poor old wife you slew?
Yes, by the God above us,
My Nance was killed by you!

"Last winter my wife lay dying,
Starved in a filthy den;
I had never been to the parish, --
I came to the parish then.
I swallowed my pride in coming,
For, ere the ruin came,
I held up my head as a trader,
And I bore a spotless name.

"I came to the parish, craving
Break for a starving wife,
Bread for the woman who'd loved me
Through fifty years of life;
And what do you think they told me,
Mocking my awful grief?
That 'the House' was open to us,
But they wouldn't give 'out relief.'

"I slunk to the filthy alley --
'Twas a cold, raw Christmas eve --
And the bakers' shops were open,
Tempting a man to thieve;
But I clenched my fists together,
Holding my head awry,
So I came to her empty-handed
And mournfully told her why.

"Then I told her 'the House' was open;
She had heard of the ways of that,
For her bloodless cheeks went crimson,
And up in her rags she sat,
Crying, 'Bide the Christmas here, John,
We've never had one apart;
I think I can bear the hunger, --
The other would break my heart.'

"All through that eve I watched her,
Holding her hand in mine,
Praying the Lord, and weeping,
Till my lips were salt as brine.
I asked her once if she hungered,
And as she answered 'No,'
The moon shone in at the window
Set in a wreath of snow.

"Then the room was bathed in glory,
And I saw in my darling's eyes
The far-away look of wonder
That comes when the spirit flies;
And her lips were parched and parted,
And her reason came and went,
For she raved of our home in Devon,
Where our happiest years were spent.

"And the accents long forgotten,
Came back to the tongue once more,
For she talked like the country lassie
I woo'd by the Devon shore.
Then she rose to her feet and trembled,
And fell on the rags and moaned,
And, 'Give me a crust -- I'm famished --
For the love of God!' she groaned.

"I rushed from the room like a madman,
And flew to the workhouse gate,
Crying, 'Food for a dying woman!'
And the answer came, 'Too late.'
They drove me away with curses;
Then I fought with a dog in the street,
And tore from the mongrel's clutches
A crust he was trying to eat.

"Back, through the filthy by-lanes!
Back, through the trampled slush!
Up to the crazy garret,
Wrapped in an awful hush.
My heart sank down at the threshold,
And I paused with a sudden thrill,
For there in the silv'ry moonlight
My Nance lay, cold and still.

"Up to the blackened ceiling
The sunken eyes were cast --
I knew on those lips all bloodless
My name had been the last;
She'd called for her absent husband --
O God! had I but known! --
Had called in vain, and in anguish
Had died in that den -- alone.

"Yes, there, in a land of plenty,
Lay a loving woman dead,
Cruelly starved and murdered
For a loaf of the parish bread.

At yonder gate, last Christmas,
I craved for a human life.
You, who would feast us paupers,
What of my murdered wife!

Mary came early on the third day,
Where for three days, the Saviour lay.
Her mother heart was sad and worn,
She would seek rest that blessed morn.
She saw the cruel thorny crown,
That Joseph on the ground threw down,
Had taken root, and from it grew
A glorious bush of radiant hue,
Covered in gold and living green.
No cruel thorn on it was to be seen,
The glory of the golden bloom.
Hiding the entrance to the tomb,
To Mary's heart came sweey repose,
For on each stem bloomed , a Gloria Rose.
---
Signed and dated.
Albert Ohlson Crowle. Pirates Perch.
Easter 1940.

(Read this to
yourself aloud - it's great!)
>
If a packet hits a pocket on a socket on a port,
and the bus is interrupted at a very last resort,
and the access of the memory makes your floppy disk abort,
then the socket packet pocket has an error to report.

If your cursor finds
a menu item followed by a dash,
and the double-clicking icon puts your window in the trash,
and your data is corrupted cause the index doesn't hash,
then your situation's hopeless and your system's gonna crash!

If the label on the cable on the table at your house,
says the network is connected to the button on your mouse,
but your packets want to tunnel to another protocol,
that's repeatedly rejected by the printer down the hall.

And your screen is all distorted by the side effects of gauss,
so your icons in the window are as wavy as a souse;
then you may as well reboot and go out with a bang,
'cuz sure as I'm a poet, the sucker's gonna hang.

When the copy on your floppy's getting sloppy in the disk,
and the macro code instructions is causing unnecessary risk,
then you'll have to flash the memory and you'll want to RAM your ROM,
and then quickly turn off the computer and be sure to tell your Mom!

When I open up my
e-mails and there's nothing there but junk,
Sometimes I think it's all come true - the list has really sunk.
So Kay sends us all a poem ,which is meant to make us smile,
And it's all about computers that go wrong, once in a while

To me it's all plain gobbledy gook, my memory must be thick
I'll wait till my son Bryn comes home to fix things with one click
All this talk of floppy macro codes and re-boots going crash
It drives me so far up the wall I give the thing a bash

I read the poem through again; the fog begins to lift
It must be written in a code so the clues I start to sift
I'm sure that I can work it out, athough it may take time
It really is about the words and getting them to rhyme.

If a packet hits a pocket on a socket on a port,
and the bus is interrupted at a very last resort,
and the access of the memory makes your floppy disk abort,
then the socket packet pocket has an error to report."

Now if "packet" is a pasty could "socket" be a beer
Could a"last resort" mean Sennen .Ah..that starts to make it
clear
Whilst I cannot see what memory has to do with a slipped disk
Sennen, plus a pint and pasty would likely do the trick.

If your cursor finds a menu item followed by a dash,
and the double-clicking icon puts your window in the trash,
and your data is corrupted cause the index doesn't hash,
then your situation's hopeless and your system's gonna crash!"

On the list we discuss menus of that there is no doubt,
But "double clicking icon's" would surely be ruled out
Or is it code for Rodda's cream with scones and strawberry jam?
The blood sugar's going through the roof as my data systems slam.

"If the label on the cable on the table at your house,
says the network is connected to the button on your mouse,
but your packets want to tunnel to another protocol,
that's repeatedly rejected by the printer down the hall."

Well now I'm getting all confused, as you can plainly see
Network and Tunnel simply mean the train to San and me
Then there's the printer down the hall , thats " The Packet" News I'll
bet
Is this the port of Falmouth with no fish caught in the net

And your screen is all distorted by the side effects of gauss,
so your icons in the window are as wavy as a souse;
then you may as well reboot and go out with a bang
'cuz sure as I'm a poet, the sucker's gonna hang.

Old Dr Seuss has beaten me but it's been such mighty fun.
If I had seen the subject line I should not have begun
Kay wrote "Off Topic" so that folk could read and plainly
see
It was not on Cornwall-pasties- cream or gen-e-al-o-gy.

So thank you Kay for your great post which really made me grin
It brought back times of winter nights curled up with my son. Bryn.
"Read Dr Seuss", he'd cry aloud and pass a book to me.
"Cat in the Hat "or hairy "Grinch" are old friends to
us you see.

George P
[plus a little help from San who says this is just the type of humour most
Cornish love: clever nonsense with a great play on words]

On the twelfth day
of Christmas,
My true love gave to me,
Twelve census searches,
Eleven printer ribbons,
Ten e-mail contacts,
Nine headstone rubbings,
Eight birth and death dates,
Seven town clerks sighing,
Six second cousins,
Five coats of arms,
Four GEDCOM files,
Three old wills,
Two CD-ROMs,
And a branch in my family tree.

Effective
immediately, the following economizing measures are being implemented in the
"Twelve Days of Christmas" subsidiary:

1) The
partridge will be retained, but the pear tree, which never produced the
cash crop forecasted, will be replaced by a plastic hanging plant,
providing considerable savings in maintenance;

2) Two
turtle doves represent a redundancy that is simply not cost effective. In
addition, their romance during working hours could not be condoned. The
positions are, therefore, eliminated;

3) The
three French hens will remain intact. After all, everyone loves the
French;

4) The
four calling birds will be replaced by an automated voice mail system,
with a call waiting option. An analysis is underway to determine who the
birds have been calling, how often and how long they talked;

5) The
five golden rings have been put on hold by the Board of Directors.
Maintaining a portfolio based on one commodity could have negative
implications for institutional investors. Diversification into other
precious metals, as well as a mix of T-Bills and high technology stocks,
appear to be in order;

6) The
six geese-a-laying constitutes a luxury which can no longer be afforded.
It has long been felt that the production rate of one egg per goose per
day was an example of the general decline in productivity. Three geese
will be let go, and an upgrading in the selection procedure by personnel
will assure management that, from now on, every goose it gets will be a
good one;

7) The
seven swans-a-swimming is obviously a number chosen in better times. The
function is primarily decorative. Mechanical swans are on order. The
current swans will be retrained to learn some new strokes, thereby
enhancing their outplacement;

8) As
you know, the eight maids-a-milking concept has been under heavy scrutiny
by the EEOC. A male/female balance in the workforce is being sought. The
more militant maids consider this a dead-end job with no upward mobility.
Automation of the process may permit the maids to try a-mending,
a-mentoring or a-mulching;

9) Nine
ladies dancing has always been an odd number. This function will be phased
out as these individuals grow older and can no longer do the steps;

10) Ten
Lords-a-leaping is overkill. The high cost of Lords, plus the expense of
international air travel, prompted the Compensation Committee to suggest
replacing this group with ten out-of-work congressmen. While leaping
ability may be somewhat sacrificed, the savings are significant as we
expect an oversupply of unemployed congressmen this year;

11)
Eleven pipers piping and twelve drummers drumming is a simple case of the
band getting too big. A substitution with a string quartet, a cutback on
new music, and no uniforms, will produce savings which will drop right to
the bottom line;

Overall
we can expect a substantial reduction in assorted people, fowl, animals
and related expenses. Though incomplete, studies indicate that stretching
deliveries over twelve days is inefficient. If we can drop ship in one
day, service levels will be improved.

Regarding
the lawsuit filed by the attorney's association seeking expansion to
include the legal profession ("thirteen lawyers-a-suing"), a
decision is pending.

Deeper
cuts may be necessary in the future to remain competitive. Should that
happen, the Board will request management to scrutinize the Snow White
Division to see if seven dwarfs is the right number.